


Power Play

by kronette



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: M/M, Power Dynamics, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-23 00:27:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/616053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kronette/pseuds/kronette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/615989">Bittersweet Surrender</a>. After Methos leaves, his friends decide to get him and MacLeod back together in the most roundabout fashion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Power Play

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted in 1996 under my other pseud, Shelley Wright. Bits of this story came from "Till Death", where we met the Valicourt's for the first time. "The Darkness" is the episode where Tessa died, which I mentioned when Duncan was brooding about Joe's disappearance. Methos' flashback is my own making, and I claim full rights on it, as well as his 'new' alter ego, Michael Litteken.

Duncan MacLeod went through his normal morning ritual as if in a haze; bathing, dressing, coffee, stripping the bed...images of the night before crashed through his mind as his hand smoothed the wrinkles. Hours before, Methos had been in that spot. His weight heavy on the sheets, his quiet breathing stirring the loose hair at the Highlander's neck. His arm flung casually across Duncan's chest, fingers just brushing his side. His first wife's amulet shining dully against his skin. Sheets pushed down around his waist, exposing the expanse of his back. His legs tangled with his. His warm body next to his.

Duncan sighed, finishing his task and tossing the dirty sheets in the hamper. The phone rang, cutting into the morning silence. MacLeod hesitated, then picked up the receiver.

"Hello?"

"Hey Mac," Joe Dawson's voice came through the other end softly.

"Hi Joe," MacLeod cradled the phone on his shoulder against his ear.

Joe was silent for a moment, then cleared his throat. "I suppose you know..."

"I know," MacLeod interrupted quietly. He sighed. "It's okay Joe. Really." He could almost sense Joe's disbelief at that.

"How about coming over for some coffee? Maybe we could talk..."

 _You mean keep an eye on me,_ MacLeod thought. "No thanks, Joe. I'm okay with it." He paused a moment, then added, "I'm thinking of packing it in and heading back to Seacouver."

"So soon?" Joe blurted out, then sighed. "Sorry. Guess you don't need a keeper, do you MacLeod?"

Duncan smiled. "No, Joe, but sometimes, it's nice to know someone cares. I'll see you before I go, okay?"

"All right. See you."

"Bye Joe." MacLeod waited for the click, then listened to the dial tone for a few seconds before setting the phone down. His eyes flicked over the barge, coming to rest on the doorway to the bedroom.

~~~~~~

Weeks later...

"Hey Mac!" Joe called over the noise of the crowd.

"Joe," Duncan nodded, settling himself at the bar. Joe's was packed, not unusual for a crisp spring night in Paris. Duncan spared a glance around, then ordered a beer.

Joe set it down, smiling. "What brings you here tonight? Thought you were going back to Seacouver?" pitching his voice low to be heard above the crowd. Mac had come into the bar twice a week for several weeks now, saying the exact same thing each time. Joe almost recited it with him.

"Not this week. Maybe next." Duncan shook his head, sipping his beer. "How's the kid doing?" he asked suddenly.

"Richie's hardly a kid," Joe scoffed, but smiled despite himself. Maybe MacLeod was coming out of his brooding.

Duncan shrugged, toying with the label on the bottle. "Okay, how's the _man_ doing?"

Joe bit back a frustrated sigh. "He's doing okay. Said he's really enjoying India."

Finally, a small smile graced Duncan's face. "Yeah. Kamir really got to him. And India is a very mystical place." He paused. "I just hope he's watching his head," Duncan added.

"He is," Joe answered. Something in his voice made Duncan look up.

"What? Joe, tell me."

"He had a run-in with another Immortal over there. Took some bad hits, but came out okay in the end. He's not a bad fighter. Must have had a good teacher," Dawson teased as he wiped a glass clean.

"He had a great teacher." Duncan sipped his beer, hiding his smile until Joe shook his head.

"Egomaniac," he retorted.

MacLeod smiled and finished his beer.

~~~~~~

Four days later...

"Hello?" MacLeod picked up the phone on the second ring, nearly dropping his grocery bag on the floor in his haste.

"MacLeod?" a voice rasped.

The Highlander immediately went on alert. "Yes. Who's this?"

"Oh, you'll know soon enough. I just wanted to let you know something." A pause.

"Yeah?" MacLeod snapped sarcastically. "Is my long distance company not to your liking?"

"Cut the crap, MacLeod. We have a score to settle. And I want to insure that the odds are even."

An uneasy feeling settled in the Scot's gut. Methos had been out of touch for nearly two months, and Richie had just called him from India yesterday. "How are you insuring that?"

His hand tightened on the receiver as the voice informed him, "I have your drinking buddy. Dawson."

MacLeod lowered himself to his couch, the dead receiver still in his hand, long forgotten. Someone had kidnapped Joe.  _Think, MacLeod, think. Who could it be_? It seemed, lately, that his life was nothing but ghosts from his past, coming back to haunt him - and take his head. In four hundred years you accumulate a lot of enemies. And making enemies out of Immortals wasn't exactly a smart thing.

Duncan wondered who to contact. He couldn't ask the Watchers for their help, though he supposed whoever had Joe, that Immortal's Watcher was watching him. But Joe had been his link to the Watchers; now who could he contact...Adam. But how to contact Adam?

"Methos, where in the world are you?" MacLeod whispered to the empty barge, remembering the night Methos had left, wishing he had never gone.

~~~~~~~

Methos glanced behind him, wishing he had his sword. He could feel the tendrils of another Immortal just inside his Buzz-range, but he was almost positive the other Immortal couldn't feel him. After 5000 years, you learn a few things about Quickenings. How to control your own Buzz; how to project it less forcefully. How to use your Quickening as a weapon. Methos hurried along the boardwalk, the harsh wind scattering sand across his path.

"Great idea, coming to America's desert plain," Methos muttered to himself as he ducked around a corner. Steadying his breathing, he strained to feel the Buzz, but it had faded. His stalker had stopped, possibly confused. Now was his chance. Methos walked casually across the street, hands stuffed deep in his jean pockets. His always-present trenchcoat had been abandoned in the desert heat; now his wardrobe consisted of t-shirts and jeans, very non-descript. No one paid him any attention as he walked the length of Main Street, heading back to the boarding house. He reached the entrance to the cottage and smiled a greeting to the couple who ran the house. As he stepped inside, his smile faded. He couldn't take a head near here; the light show would be hard to explain. Not to mention the mess that would happen when the couple's glass collection exploded around them. Racing upstairs two at a time, Methos grabbed his sword, stuffing it inside a duffel bag along with a few old shirts. Shouldering the bag, he made his way back downstairs, mentally preparing himself for the upcoming fight.

"Going out for the day Michael?" Mrs. Wheeler called to him from the porch swing.

Methos shielded his eyes from the sun's glare, smiling warmly her. "Yes. Just a short trip up to the mountains. Should be back by morning," he assured her.

"Have a good time son," Mr. Wheeler chimed in, fanning himself slowly.

"I shall," Methos smiled again, then turned from the couple and down the walkway, to meet his challenger.

~~~~

"I'm definitely getting too old for this," Methos muttered as he wiped his blade with one of the shirts he had brought along. A slight frown of disdain crossed his features; no matter how long you lived, no matter what you'd seen, cleaning up after a beheading was still a disgusting chore. Tossing the shirt aside, he shuffled to his feet, the sand shifting under him. Fighting on sand had been difficult for the other Immortal, but for Methos, it was like coming home. You never forgot how to fight on your home territory. Sighing, he buried the body deep in the sand, keeping the sword for reference. He hadn't seen anyone following either of them, so that meant this Immortal either didn't have a Watcher, or the Watcher thought this was just a pleasure trip and hadn't bothered. Which would make answering any questions very simple; let the Watcher think their Immortal had just vanished off the face of the Earth. Wiping his bloody hands on the last of the shirts, he gathered them into a pile. Digging a lighter out of his jeans, Methos lit the shirts, burning the last of the evidence of the Immortal fight.

As he watched the flames waver with the heat, one thought kept chasing itself around his head. How had the Immortal known where to find him? He had called him Adam Pierson. Methos hadn't told anyone that name here, and it wasn't known to many Immortals. His challenger hadn't mentioned MacLeod or Richie, which was some small relief. So how had he known who he was? There was always Joe, but he had grown to trust the man, and couldn't believe that he would betray a trust. But maybe something had happened to one of them...

Turning away, he gathered up his sword and bag, and started the trek back into town. He had to know how this Immortal had found him.

~~~~~~

"Damn!" Methos slammed the received down, rising to his feet and pacing the length of his room. Through some friends, he had discovered that Richie was in India, quite healthy and head still intact. But his calls to Joe's Pub in Paris were being met with rebuttals and half-promises to have Joe return them. Methos had a lot of patience, but it was being stretched to the breaking point. He had been trying for days to reach Joe Dawson, but even Watcher HQ was keeping him under tight wraps. Or else...something had happened to him.

"No, not to Joe. He's careful," Methos assured himself, though he began to wonder. Joe had been walking a dangerous line between Watcher and friend to MacLeod. The Watchers wouldn't let it go unchallenged for long. One of them would eventually notice, and then...

"Oh, shit." Methos raked his hand through his short-cropped hair, nearly tugging on it in frustration. Hand on hip, the other waving wildly, he tried to talk himself out of what he was contemplating.

"I can't call him. I swore I wouldn't return to Adam Pierson's life. He's dead. Adam had that fling with MacLeod, not me." Even as he mumble the words, Methos felt the stirrings of arousal flare inside him. "Damn it," he cursed again, kicking at the floor. "I swore 'no Immortals'. Never get involved with them. And not only do I go and get involved, but the one I swore to protect is the one I go after. Nice going, Methos."

A soft knock at the door broke his revere. "Yes?" he called as he opened the door. Mrs. Wheeler smiled at him.

"I just wanted to let you know dinner's ready." Her smile faded to a frown of concern as she studied Methos' face. "What's wrong honey? You look worried." She folded her hands in front of her. "You haven't seemed happy since you got here."

"Mrs. Wheeler..." Methos started to protest, but those warm gray eyes just would not let go of him. Quickenings were powerful, but not nearly as powerful of the gaze of a mother who felt someone was hurting. He ushered her inside, offering her a chair. She sat on the bed instead, patting next to her for him to join her. Unable to stop his smile, Methos sat next to her.

She took his hand in both of hers. "Michael, I hope you don't think I'm a nosy old lady, but I worry about those under my roof."

Methos patted their joined hands. "I don't mind...and you're right; I am worried."

"Someone in trouble? A friend?"

Methos' startled eyes met hers. "Yes. No." His brow wrinkled in confusion. "I don't know. I think that's the worst part. I can't get in touch with him."

"Doesn't he have other friends you could call?"

Methos blinked, studying the weathered face before him. She was voicing what he was struggling with; to contact MacLeod or not. "Yes, he does. But..." he hesitated, but even as he did so, he knew Mrs. Wheeler would finish the thought for him.

"You had a falling out with this other friend?" she questioned, her eyes surprisingly clear and bright.

"You could say that." Methos straightened, pulling back his hand. "We were lovers."

A faint blush colored the old woman's cheeks. "I see. And you parted on bad terms."

"Not - exactly." Methos rose to his feet, jamming his hands in his pockets as he turned to the window. "I left...unexpectedly. And without saying good-bye."

"Then maybe you didn't really leave." Mrs. Wheeler's voice cut right through Methos, and he spun around, eyes wide. She was standing, hands folded in front of her, her eyes holding him with their determination. "And if you didn't leave, there is no problem returning, is there?"

"Who are you?" he breathed, pure wonder in his eyes.

Her eyes twinkled at him. "Just a nosy old woman who hates to see people hurting. I think you've been hurt too much in your life; it's time to let it go."

Methos stared at her, hearing her words washing over him and calming him. "All right, I'll call my friend."

A quick shake of her head surprised him. "Phone calls are impersonal and cold. You must go to your friend."

~~~~~~

MacLeod rubbed his unshaven face tiredly. He hadn't been contacted for two days since the initial phone call, and was wondering if this was all a cruel joke. His mind drifted back a few years, remembering the night Tessa had died. The man who held her, taunted Duncan with her. Then, the waiting had nearly killed him. Now...suddenly, he felt a Buzz and was on his feet in seconds, katana at the ready.

The Immortal on the other side knocked softly. Carefully making his way to the door, MacLeod opened it with one hand, reaching out and grasping whoever it was by the collar. Pulling the Immortal inside, he slammed him against the wall, katana at his throat. The entire process had taken three seconds.

"Um, candygram?" Methos rasped, his breathing unsteady, his eyes wide with unaccustomed fear.

"Methos!" MacLeod raged, glaring at him. He let the katana fall to his side, but kept his arm against the Ancient Immortal's neck. "What are you doing here?"

"Trying to breathe," Methos joked, only partially. MacLeod was pushing against his larynx, and he was starting to see stars.

MacLeod backed away, leaving Methos sagging a bit against the wall. He rubbed at his neck, frowning. "I take it you were expecting someone else?"

MacLeod walked back to the couch, putting his sword on the coffee table within arms' reach of where he sat. Duncan kept his eyes locked on the katana as his thick voice announced quietly, "Someone has Joe."

 _Damn, damn, damn. Not what I needed to hear_. Methos sat down across from the Scotsman, his hands falling uselessly to his knees. "Do you know who?"

Duncan shook his head. "They called, saying they were using Joe for insurance."

"I take it this is someone from your chivalrous past?" Methos snapped unexpectedly.

Duncan rose to his feet, eyes dark with anger. "Don't start in, Methos. My nerves are frayed enough as it is."

Methos also rose, eyes flashing. "And mine aren't? I just flew the red-eye from America after getting no sleep, trying to work out the effects of yet another damn Quickening and wondering where in the hell Joe was..."

Duncan interrupted him with a puzzled frown. "Whoa, whoa, Methos. What do you mean, you took another Quickening?"

Methos let out an impatient sigh. "In the middle of the American desert, I managed to find another Immortal. Actually, he managed to find  _me_. I kept his sword; I didn't get a chance to find out who he was. That's why I needed Joe; why I came here. I was hoping you'd heard from him."

Duncan stared hard at Methos. His eyes were haunted, reflecting intense pain, and MacLeod remembered their parting. Or rather, Methos' nighttime departure from his bed. He felt a resoning in his Quickening; felt Methos' Buzz acutely. "Methos," he whispered, making a move toward the Ancient Immortal.

Methos stepped back immediately, throwing out an arm to stop Duncan from getting too close. "Don't MacLeod. I came here to find Joe, nothing more."

"How can you say that?" Duncan's burr slipped into his speech as his emotions took over. "What we shared..."

"Was over two months ago... and a mistake," Methos declared, turning his back on the Highlander. He strode across the barge, putting some space between them. "It took the coercion of a kindly old woman to get me to come here. I wouldn't have come on my own."

Anger flared inside Duncan. "Well, that's good to know. It meant nothing to you then."

 _Oh, my friend, if only you knew._ "That's not important," Methos evaded. "What is important is finding out who has Joe. Now, when's the last time you spoke to him?"

Duncan took several deep breaths, trying to quell his anger. Methos was right - for now. Their personal problems could wait. "About a week ago. I went in to discuss Richie's latest fight."

"So it was Watcher business," Methos mused.

"What are you getting at?" Duncan stepped closer, just as Methos whirled around. Their eyes met, both sparkling with emotion.

"I'm afraid he might have gotten a bit too close to the line."

Duncan frowned. "What line?"

"The line between being a Watcher and being your friend," Methos replied quietly. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I'm not entirely sure that whoever has him  _is_ Immortal."

"What? You think the Watchers have him?" Duncan's voice was strangled; his throat constricted. "This might be happening because of his friendship with me?"

"I don't know for sure," Methos hesitated, "But I've been in contact with Headquarters, and..."

Duncan grabbed Methos by the shoulders, almost shaking him. "You contacted Headquarters? Did they tell you anything? Where is he?"

Methos cursed himself for allowing MacLeod this close to him. His thick hands cut into his upper arms, Duncan's Quickening sparking along his nerve endings. Focusing internally, Methos whispered, "I couldn't get anything out of them."

Duncan relaxed his grip on the other Immortal. "Shit. And I haven't had any luck at Joe's Pub. They just say he hasn't been in."

"How long?" Methos suddenly asked, shaking away from MacLeod's grasp.

Duncan blinked at him. "How long what?"

Methos sighed and elaborated, "How long hasn't Joe been into the bar? When did this mysterious caller contact you?"

Duncan didn't have to think long. "It's been about four days since he reported into the bar, and I got the call two days ago."

"Damn." Methos started pacing the tiny barge nervously. "That Immortal found me five days ago." He stared hard at MacLeod. "Do you think this is a coincidence?"

Duncan just stared at Methos, blinking. "I'm not sure."

 _Great. I think he's in shock._ "Neither am I. But how would they know to look for me there? Adam Pierson was certainly  _not_ known as an Immortal in Watcher circles..."

"Wait a second," Duncan interrupted Methos' monologue. "While I was trying to find leads to Joe, I made some discreet inquiries for an Adam Pierson, but he doesn't exist."

Methos smirked despite the tense situation. "No, he doesn't. When I was ready to leave, I told the Watchers that I had been exposed to one of us, and they gave me a new identity." He held out his hand. "Michael Litteken."

Duncan ignored the extended hand. "This isn't funny, dammit! I needed to find you, and I had no way of contacting you."

Methos' arm fell back to his side. "That was the plan, MacLeod." His eyes burned into Duncan's, narrowed with the force of his passion. "I hadn't intended to come back. I was starting a new life elsewhere. But then that stupid Immortal found me, and I couldn't contact Joe...I had no choice. You're his closest friend outside the Watchers. If he had gone anywhere, he would have told you."

MacLeod was silent for a minute, then muttered, "Damn."

"Exactly," Methos spat, grimacing. Not only could he not find out about the Immortal he had killed, now he had to stop yet another of MacLeod's charity cases from killing Joe.

Duncan's eyes refocused, and his jaw clenched in determination. "Okay. Do you still have contact with Headquarters? Can you get inside?"

Methos snorted, waving his arms in Duncan's general direction. "What good will that do, MacLeod? You've had four hundred years to accumulate enemies. It could be anyone."

Duncan had to bite the inside of cheek to keep from replying the way he wanted. "You can get inside, and listen. See if anyone is talking about Joe's disappearance."

"Like they'd say anything to a lowly Methos researcher," Methos scoffed, though his mind was already working out what he knew of the internal network.

"You wouldn't go around  _asking_ about Joe," MacLeod rolled his eyes, "You'd just listen. You can listen, can't you?"

Methos shot him a baleful glare, then ignored him. Resting his elbow in one hand, he chewed on a fingernail, deep in thought. "I can get inside easy enough, but to get to the hub of activity isn't exactly a stroll through the park. I'd have to..."

The shrilling of the phone cut Methos' train of thought off. The two Immortals stared at the phone. Finally Duncan snatched it up and barked, "MacLeod."

"Good to hear from you, too," the voice rasped. "I take it you're ready for me?"

"When and where," MacLeod spat, his jaw clenched in anger.

Laughter greeted his response. "Impatient are we? What a shame. Don't you even want to talk to your friend?"

"And if I do, you'd let me?" MacLeod kept his gaze on Methos, who was frowning and mouthing 'idiot' at him.

"Maybe." A pause. "Oh, very well. I'm in a generous mood. But don't expect it to last."

Duncan heard the phone shift, then Joe's voice. "Hey Mac."

Relief flooded through the Highlander's body. "Joe, are you all right?"

"I'm okay," Joe grunted over the line. "Not exactly comfortable, but not everything was made handicap accessible."

Duncan lowered his voice. "Can you give me any hints of where you are? Who has you?"

Joe's voice seemed strained over the line as he replied carefully, "Yeah, there's something you can do for me. Keep an eye on the bar, would you? I left a coupla things on the...hey!"

The phone dropped away from Joe's voice, and the other voice came on. "Ah, ah-ah. No hints. Dawson's been a bad boy. Know what I do to bad boys?"

"No!" Duncan shouted, "He's not important to this. We don't involve mortals in our fights."

"Don't we?" the voice asked calmly. "Well, maybe you don't, but some of us like the added...challenge. Now," the voice grew hard, "we have an appointment."

Duncan gritted his teeth. "Where?"

"Go to your window. Do you see that very lovely bridge to the south?" the voice instructed.

Duncan walked over and peered out the porthole. "Yeah."

"There. Midnight. And I'd advise your friend Pierson to stay behind. Wouldn't want to break the two-on-one rule, now would you?" There was a click, then the line went dead.

"Well?" Methos yelled when MacLeod didn't say anything.

Duncan fell with a soft 'plop' onto the couch. "Midnight. The bridge." His throat felt tight as he added, "He said Pierson was to remain here."

Now it was Methos' turn for his legs to fail him. "So he  _was_ involved in the other Immortal coming after me. And he's been keeping tabs on me." Anger darkened his eyes. "I can't go to Watcher Headquarters now; he might follow me." Methos let out a string of ancient curses, only a few that Duncan recognized.

Despite himself, a tiny smile appeared. "You'll have to teach me some of those someday."

Methos stared at him blankly. "What? Teach what? Oh." An answering smile teased at the Ancient Immortal's lips, and he settled down, willing his temper to quiet and let him think. "So we know where, and we know he's at least seen you in the barge before, quite probably today, since he knows I'm here. So he either knows you, or he knows your habits."

"Methos, I've been living here every winter for the past few years. I'm well-known around here, by mortal and Immortal alike. How are we supposed to narrow this down?"

"Don't ask me, you're the one who talked to him. Did you hear anything unusual in the background? Some noise that might clue us it to where Joe's being held?"

"No," MacLeod murmured softly, lost in thought. He suddenly came alive. "Joe said something about handicap access. I know a lot of places that have it, but he said he not all places _were_ accessible..."

"MacLeod, that would be about 90% of the buildings here in France. Was there anything else? Any sound, or... "

"He asked me to keep an eye on the bar, though I guess he was trying to tell me where they kidnapped him from. Damn," Duncan sighed. He closed his eyes, then reopened them to stare at Methos. "I'm not ready to lose him, Methos."

Methos slid off the couch to kneel at the Scot's feet. "Duncan," he whispered, "You're not going to lose him. I'll make sure of that," he vowed with quiet determination.

Duncan's eyes shone with tears. "How can you be sure of that?

Hesitantly, Methos put his hands on either side of MacLeod's face. "Because I have faith in you. And even if everything fails, I will avenge your deaths. This Immortal will not live to see another sunrise." His voice was strong, his eyes blazing with the force of his promise.

Duncan choked out, "So you do care, Methos..."

Methos immediately pulled back. "I said not now, MacLeod. There are more important matters..."

Duncan grasped his wrists and pulled him close. "Then when?" he asked, his breath hot on the other Immortal's neck. "In four hours I might be dead. They'll be no time for reconciliations then. No, Methos. It's either now or never."

Methos blinked, staring into the depths of the Highlander's eyes. The Scottish passion raged to the surface, and Methos felt himself drowning in it. A wry smile curved his lips, and he sighed. "You love making offers I can't refuse, don't you Highlander?"

"Mmm," Duncan answered, a teasing smile on his lips. He lowered his head to kiss Methos, and, unable to stop himself, Methos rose to meet him. The tingling of Quickening spread through their bodies, igniting nerve endings as their kiss deepened. Duncan released Methos' hands, which immediately fell to his lap, stroking his thickening erection through his jeans. Groaning, he fell back onto the couch, giving Methos the perfect opportunity.

"Damn MacLeod. You don't waste any time, do you?" Methos hissed in his ear, his warm breath tingling along Duncan's senses. He mouthed along the Scot's jaw, working his hand under Duncan's shirt to tease at his pecs. Tweaking a nipple, Methos plunged his tongue deep inside the Highlander's mouth, swallowing the soft sounds of his protest.

MacLeod once again felt himself surrounded by the Ancient Immortal. Methos' nimble hands were working their magic over his body, his mouth coaxing sounds out of him he didn't think he'd ever uttered; the weight of his lean, compact body heavy on his...

"Methos," Duncan gasped, pulling back. His face was flushed, his eyes dark, his lips swollen from where Methos had sucked at them. Breathing hard, he once again grabbed Methos' wrists and held him at bay. "Wait."

Challenge flashed in Methos' deep eyes, but he allowed the Scotsman to hold him.

Duncan caught his breath, willing his blood to slow its race through his veins. Methos was once again moving faster than he wanted him to. Controlling their lovemaking. But he had an idea. "Methos," he growled low, yanking the other Immortal to him roughly, twisting Methos' arms behind his back and delving deeply into the smirking mouth.

Methos felt pure excitement course through his veins. It had been a long, long time since he'd been handled so roughly, and his Quickening tingled with sensation. He let MacLeod lead him, flicking his tongue across Duncan's swollen lips twice before the Scot pushed up hard on Methos' arms, growling, "Don't do that."

"Oh, yes sir," Methos breathed, his eyes alight with mischief, only a wince of discomfort crossing his features.

Duncan saw the raw defiance shining out of his eyes, and with another low growl, dove into his neck. Moving his shirt aside with his teeth, Duncan kissed along his shoulder, then suddenly bit down, hard enough to break the skin.

"Ah!" Methos started, then groaned softly. His head lolled back as his eyes closed, letting the sensations course through him. He forgot about the hard wood floor beneath his knees, his arms twisted unnaturally against his back; all focus went to MacLeod's mouth, taking him back two thousand years...

 

> **Ancient Rome:  211 BCE**
> 
> "Oh, Goddess, please," Methos groaned, arching up into the skilled hands. Aros was nipping sharply along his ribs, pausing to tug at a nipple now and then. The Immortal threw his head back, his hands twisting the sheet below him in a death-grip.
> 
> "Haven't had enough yet Marcus?" his lover teased him, fingernails scraping his torso raw.
> 
> "No," Methos whispered, gasping for air. The teeth marks were already healing, and the pain was fading. "Please," he begged, his mouth opening and a strangled cry escaping as Aros plunged down on his sex, sucking hard.
> 
> Methos' climax ripped through him, tearing out his soul and draining his blood, leaving only an empty shell to writhe and moan and beg for it to never end...

_A soft spot!_ Grinning now, concentrating on the Ancient Immortal's responses, Duncan continued to nip his cream-colored skin, licking at the blood droplets that formed. At each nip, Methos started, then let out a soft groan of pleasure. Duncan didn't let up until he had a trail of faint blood along each collarbone, then he carefully licked his way up the bone, cleaning the once-again perfect skin.

Methos trembled in his arms, and Duncan once again felt arousal flare through his Quickening. "Take me, MacLeod," Methos rasped, his breathing ragged. He pushed his body against Duncan's, between his legs, gasping as muscles strained unnaturally. Sweat rolled down the sides of his face, and he again whispered, "take me."

Grey eyes bore into Duncan's warm brown, and MacLeod felt a shudder rip through his Quickening. Something inside him buckled, and he growled, "I'll give the orders here," before he hauled Methos to his feet.

A tremor went through Methos. It had definitely been too long. "Yes sir," he smartly replied, forcing a smirk to his lips, which MacLeod quickly kissed away.

"Och, you're going to pay for that," Duncan hissed, fighting back his grin. He tugged harder on Methos' arms, which had the added bonus of pressing his hard erection against Methos' groin. "And pay dearly," he added with his thick Scottish brogue.

Methos was dizzy with arousal. His sex was achingly hard, and his knees were starting to weaken. Taking control of MacLeod's passion two months ago had been fun, but a bit unsatisfying for him. This...this was sweet torture. A groan escaped him, and he leaned forward, taking a nip at Duncan's chin.

Duncan jerked back, surprised enough to slacken his hold on the Ancient Immortal. Methos used the distraction to push himself fully against MacLeod, letting him feel exactly how much he wanted him. Methos locked gazes with the Scotsman, and Duncan felt himself falling into those ancient eyes once again. His grip strengthened around Methos as the other Immortal thrust his hips into his groin.

"Now, Highlander," Methos hissed, his voice thick with emotion. Wrapped in Duncan's arms, Methos had no doubt to the man's strength. It sent another chill through him, and he rubbed his groin into MacLeod's. "Now."

Rumbling in his throat, Duncan walked them to the bedroom, never letting go of the other Immortal, kissing him deeply as they reached the doorway. Finally releasing Methos, Duncan's hands wrapped around his waist, pulling at his shirt. The brush of cloth against his sensitized skin was enough to make Methos snap his eyes shut and moan softly. He felt Duncan's feather-light touches along his torso as his shirt was tugged off, his nipples recoiling into two tight nubs as MacLeod licked each one, leaving a wet trail that caused another ripple through Methos' Quickening.

Duncan's breathing was ragged; his own control pushed to the limits, but he determined that he _would_ make Methos come first... if only because he had tricked him last time. With that thought to keep him focused, MacLeod narrowed his eyes and stepped back.

Methos felt Duncan's retreat, felt his warm hands leave his body, and internally screamed _What now!?_ Opening his eyes, they widened at the dark frown pulling at MacLeod's lips. He started to speak, but Duncan's glare stopped the words.

"Kneel," Duncan ordered harshly.

Methos' first reaction was of shock; he hadn't expect this of the Scotsman! Then, his excitement returned, tingling Quickening rushing along his nerves, and just to unsteady MacLeod, he focused and sent some of the feeling to him. Hearing MacLeod inhale sharply, Methos grinned. "You were saying?" he mocked the Highlander, raising an eyebrow for emphasis.

Focusing himself again, MacLeod clapped his hands on Methos' shoulders and started forcing him to his knees. "I said kneel," he forced out between his clenched teeth. Methos' defiance was causing his blood to race through him; the ancient warrior of the Clan MacLeod coming to surface. He hadn't felt like this in centuries.

Methos kept his eyes locked on Duncan's as his knees hit the floor...

 

> **Ancient Rome: 209 BCE**
> 
> ...and he rolled to his side, avoiding the hand moving quickly toward his head. Panting, he scrambled to his knees and looked up into the steely blue eyes of his Roman lover.
> 
> "There now. Don't you look better on your knees?" the sultry voice asked him.
> 
> Methos sent the man a saucy grin, his voice mocking, "I might look better, but I don't..." a resounding slap across his face stopped the rest of his defiance, and he kept his face turned away from his lover.
> 
> "How dare you. First you presume to lay in my bed in wait for me, and now you disobey me?" The taller man hovered over him, grasping his chin and bending his neck backward until he faced him. "If you are so willing to bed me, then it will be on my terms."
> 
> "Yes, master," he whispered obediently, his eyes twinkling. Goddess, how he loved these games. And Aros was the best he had encountered in his three thousand years. His skin tingled where he had slapped him, and he knew the redness had disappeared, along with the dull pain.
> 
> "What can I do to please my master?' Methos whispered huskily, his hands tangling in the back of the skirt, filling his hands with his firm asscheeks. He leaned forward, brushing his lips against the front of his lover's pristine white robe, feeling the length of his lover throb through the thin cloth...

... "Och, Methos," Duncan groaned as Methos began the task of undressing the Highlander. Lost in feeling, Duncan could only rest his hands on Methos' shoulders as the older Immortal carefully stripped him. With agonizing slowness. His hands convulsed on Methos' shoulders, urging him. "Faster," he breathed, nearly forgetting his role.

Methos deliberately slowed even further, his fingers unzipping the fly with practiced skill, sliding his hands inside and parting the denim, exposing the silk boxers underneath. Letting out a breathy moan, Methos coaxed the skin-tight jeans over Duncan's hips, the tantalizing sight of his erection drawing his attention there. His mouth closed over Duncan's sex through the cloth, scraping his teeth along the length while his fingertips brushed their way up the back of Duncan's thighs, raising goosebumps along his skin.

Duncan threw himself backward out of Methos' reach, hitting the wall hard, gasping for breath. Gathering himself, steadying his breathing, he forced himself to glare down at his lover. "Methos, you're not playing fair."

"I'm not?" Those innocent eyes looked up at MacLeod, the compact chest moving quickly as his arousal started to overtake him.

"You're not," Duncan confirmed, once again in control of himself. He tossed off his jeans and barked, "On your feet."

Again, those innocent eyes twinkled at him. "I thought you wanted me on my knees?"

Breathing a Scottish curse, Duncan pulled Methos to his feet, flashing him a knowing smile before tossing him backwards onto the bed.

Mild surprise flickered across the Ancient Immortal's features, then his mouth turned up in a smile that matched Duncan's. "I can still be on my knees," he taunted, leaning back on his elbows, his hands resting on his smooth, bare stomach.

Duncan cocked his head, smiling down at Methos. "Oh, I have no doubt you'll be on your knees quite a bit," he promised, as he slithered across the bed on hands and knees. Stopping when his body was over Methos', he grinned down at him. "Turn over."

Defiance now from the ancient depths. "Make me."

Duncan was on him faster than he could think, his tongue parting his lips, stealing Methos' breath away. Shifting his position, Duncan succeeded in getting Methos flat on his back, his hands on either side of Methos' head.

Methos' hands raised to brush lightly along the Highlander's chest, still covered by his shirt. The cool cloth rubbing against his flaming skin caused Duncan to falter. "Dammit, Methos," Duncan hissed once more before re-capturing his mouth.

Grinning against him, Methos continued to splay his fingers along Duncan's shirt, toying idly with the buttons. Carefully extracting each button from the buttonholes, Methos ran his hands up inside Duncan's shirt, along the smooth expanse of skin. He felt his lips bruising with the force of MacLeod's kiss, and reveled in it. It had been centuries since he'd been kissed so thoroughly, and so expertly. A purring sound emanated from his throat, and he pulled MacLeod hard against him, losing himself in the hot mouth.

Duncan began to thrust his hips gently, a slight rocking motion that brought their erections together, MacLeod's through the thin silk, Methos' still encased in the tightness of his jeans. Groaning, Methos twisted his hips and pulled back from MacLeod's mouth. "Get these off of me," he ordered.

Breathing hard, Duncan grinned. "Now why would I want to do that?" he whispered as he started biting along Methos' shoulder once again.

Inhaling sharply and letting it out in a groan at each bite, Methos pleaded, "Please Duncan." His hands gripped the Highlander's shoulders, arching up into MacLeod's chest. "Please."

Duncan nipped the smooth skin once more, hard, and felt the shudder rip through the other Immortal. "Well, since you asked so nicely," MacLeod breathed softly into Methos' ear, nipping the lobe sharply before sitting up. Shifting off of the slighter man, MacLeod carefully worked the button out of the buttonhole, Methos' hips restless under his hands.

"MacLeod!" Methos snapped, his eyes growing wilder the longer he took.

"What?" Duncan asked, staring innocently at the Ancient Immortal as his hands jerked sharply on the zipper.

Methos threw his head back, biting his lip as he groaned loud and long. "You trying to change my religion, MacLeod?" he gasped.

"Sorry," MacLeod apologized half-heartedly as he pulled the jeans from his lover's impossibly long legs. Stripping off his own boxers, he knelt over Methos' body once again, this time settling between his legs. "So sorry," Duncan whispered as kissed along Methos' quickly healing inner thigh.

Methos arched his back, desperately wanting more contact with MacLeod's mouth. "Please," he whispered, his words catching in his throat. "Please Duncan."

Duncan's nose tickled with the wiry hairs, but he dove lower, suckling the tight balls and inner thighs until Methos squirmed. Licking up the shaft once, he swirled his tongue around the head, then went down on the shaft.

"Ohh," Methos murmured, arching his back and sliding further into the warm mouth. "Goddess, yes," he shouted, as Duncan sucked him, rolling his balls between his fingers. Duncan's free hand dug into Methos' hip, holding him steady, as the first waves of his climax rocked him.

Methos could only utter short, choked sounds as his Quickening sparkled with life, drawing from Duncan's own Quickening as he held him firmly, unwilling to let him go. He felt the Highlander's presence, felt him inside him, felt himself inside MacLeod, the surrounding city... gasping, his hair plastered to his head, Methos finally groaned.

"Duncan," he rasped.

MacLeod lay panting on his side, licking droplets of semen off his lips. "What?" he breathed, moving to take Methos in his arms and kiss him softly.

"That was damn good," he chuckled, lying against the Highlander's broad chest. He slowly focused on MacLeod's sex, still proud and taunt with need, and sighed lightly. "I suppose you'd like somewhere to stick that thing."

"Hmm?"

Methos didn't think it was possible, but MacLeod blushed. He flicked a finger against the Highlander's sex, feeling Duncan inhale sharply. "This. I'm more than ready for you, MacLeod." To emphasize this, Methos cupped Duncan's head and pulled him down for a deep, probing kiss.

"Aye," Duncan answered, when he could breathe again. He reached for the nightstand, but Methos caught his hand. At Duncan's puzzled look, Methos smiled.

"Not necessary." Methos touched two fingers to the precum on MacLeod's sex, rubbing it sensually over the head and down the shaft.

Duncan's hand stopped his ministrations. "Enough," was all MacLeod was capable of saying, before he kissed Methos lightly.

Nodding, Methos shifted position, leaning against the headboard, resting his arms along the top, his head against the wall. Duncan moved behind him, his heat instantly firing Methos' blood again. MacLeod nipped at the back of the Ancient Immortal's neck, taking care not to break skin there, while his fingers worked their way inside Methos' tight opening.

"I won't break, MacLeod," Methos hissed, thrusting hard against him.

Dizzy from the Quickening Methos was still projecting, MacLeod shifted to rest the head of his cock against the other Immortal's ass. Gathering what he could of his reserve strength, Duncan started pushing inside, feeling the tightness grab hold of him instantly. He pulled out, then pushed back inside, repeating his thrusts until he rested completely inside Methos.

Sweat broke out on his forehead as his control was tested, but Duncan rocked his hips, wrapping his arms around Methos' waist. Whispering in his ear, "How hard?" he began to thrust.

Grunting, Methos hissed, "Harder than that, MacLeod." His own hips were pushing back against Duncan's, counterpoint to his thrusts. Methos shifted position slightly, his hands splayed on the wall as he braced himself to rock harder against the younger Immortal. "Shit MacLeod, do it!"

Growling deeply, Duncan shifted his thrust, hitting Methos hard in his prostate. The strangled moan brought a smile to his lips, and he continued to pound into Methos, having the presence of mind to seek out the other's sex and begin to pump it.

The dual assault caused Methos' Quickening to spark again, heat radiating out of every pore in his body, enclosing them both with its force. Gasping, they came almost simultaneously, their Quickenings and voices mingling in a symphony of color, light and sound.

When Duncan came back to his senses, he lay on his back, Methos sprawled over his chest, both of them gasping for breath.

"Now you know why I haven't taken an Immortal lover before. Could you imagine this every night for five thousand years?" Methos panted, shaking his head slightly.

 _I could._ Duncan thought, but didn't dare speak it aloud. Methos had left him once; he was almost positive mentioning anything resembling permanence would send him packing again.

"Dear Goddess, what time is it?" Methos sat up, the amulet bouncing against his chest.

MacLeod reached out and smoothed the string that held it. "It's nearly eleven. I guess we should clean up."

Methos' expression darkened. "You have an appointment to keep." He kept the regret out of his voice with effort. His eyes followed Duncan into the bathroom, his breath catching. _And what will you do if he doesn't win this appointment, Methos?_

~~~~~

MacLeod arrived on the bridge at five minutes to midnight. Methos would be there at exactly midnight, ready to either help MacLeod find Joe, or challenge the victor. Duncan could just make out the shadowy figure on the other side, coat flapping in the strong breeze. At least one worry was put to rest; it was indeed another Immortal who met him on the bridge.

The light bounced off his katana as we withdrew it from his coat, gripping the handle firmly. "I am Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. Whenever you're ready," Duncan called to the other Immortal, his sword balanced above his head.

"I thought we might talk first," the other Immortal called, and Duncan straightened. That voice sounded so familiar...

"Who are you?" Duncan called. Another Buzz hit him, and a smaller shadow joined the man on the bridge. The man stepped into the light, pulling the smaller person with him.

"Duncan," a female voice called, and MacLeod nearly dropped his sword.

"Gina? Is that Robert with you?" he shouted, stepping quickly toward the couple.

It was indeed Robert and Gina Valicourt, grinning like two conspirators. Gina reached out and kissed him on both cheeks. "Of course, Duncan. As well as a friend of yours." The couple parted, allowing Duncan to see behind them. A sheepish-grinning Joe Dawson leaned against the hood of the Valicourt's car.

"Hi Mac."

"Joe!" MacLeod glanced from Robert to Joe to Gina, stunned amazement marking his features. "Did you find the Im- man who kidnapped Joe?"

When it seemed neither Robert nor Gina would answer, Joe took up the explanation. "Well, kidnapping is a relative term..."

Duncan's eyes narrowed as he pushed between the couple to face Joe. "What are you saying?"

Joe's grin nearly split his face. "I told you that I left a _couple_ -a," he nodded in Gina and Robert's direction," things at the bar."

"Duncan," Robert's hand turned the Highlander to him, "Gina and I heard about...that is, we know what happened between you and Adam."

"Adam? What's he got to do with this? Joe?" Duncan pleaded to his friend, hoping someone could explain _something_ to him. The Buzz of an approaching Immortal cut of further conversation, and Duncan turned and yelled quickly, "Adam! It's okay!"

"Everything all right, MacLeod?" Methos called through the darkness, still advancing on their position. All four finally saw the glint of a blade held at the ready, and the grimly determined face that followed behind it. Methos' wary eyes swept the gathered crowd. "What's going on here?"

Duncan sighed. "It looks like we were set up, Adam," Duncan emphasized Methos' alter-identity, though it wasn't necessary. Methos had no intentions of revealing himself to anyone else, ever.

"Set up? By whom? For what purpose?" He lowered his sword as his eyes finally rested on Joe. "Joe? You okay?"

Joe waved his cane lightly. "Never better."

"I don't - understand." Methos glanced to MacLeod, who was just beginning to get the big picture.

Duncan turned his incredulous stare to Robert. "What did you mean about knowing what 'happened' between me and Adam? Who told...Dawson." His gaze fixed on Joe's, who let his grin spread across his face.

"MacLeod, I watched you two dance around each other for months. Then finally, you get the balls to confront Adam with your proposition, and you get - intimate." Joe glanced to Methos, who was staring at him in faint shock. He shifted his gaze back to MacLeod and continued. "The next day, he's gone and you're depressed. And you stay depressed for weeks. Adam disappears into the great blue yonder, leaving no way to follow him. Almost."

"But what about...do you know anything about an unexpected visitor I had?" Methos countered, not sure how much Gina and Robert knew of Joe's 'occupation'.

Joe shifted against the car, settling his weight evenly. He stared hard at Methos as he continued cryptically, "I discovered something you left, Adam, which led me to America. Gina here," he smiled warmly at the Immortal, "was having a problem with a...long time associate. She came to the bar with Robert, and I overheard their conversation. I offered to help, and we devised this little plan to help everyone out. Robert called MacLeod, and told him I was being held as insurance. Your visitor was sent by Gina. I told her where you were."

Methos' shoulders sagged with relief. Joe had told Gina where to find him. "So he wasn't a friend," Methos looked askance at Gina.

"Hardly," Gina's hard voice cut through the night air. "He was a pest. I had rejected him as a suitor years ago, and he chose now to take revenge. He wanted to kill Robert, but I told him Robert wasn't the same husband he remembered." She flashed her best smile at Methos. "I lied and told him you were my first husband." She paused, her features softening as worry shone from her eyes. "You're not mad at me, are you Adam? He wasn't a good...debater, and would have been knocked out of the Game eventually. And I did have a score to settle with you and Robert." Her eyes twinkled as she regarded him.

Methos absorbed what she had told him, weighing everything. Joe hadn't given his occupation away to the Valicourt's. Gina's carefully worded speech had told him as much. He'd gotten rid of a 'pest' - good Goddess, he was turning into MacLeod, charging to save damsels in distress. There was no challenge tonight; and his secret was safe. His eyes locked with Robert's, and Robert grinned. A slow grin crossed Methos' features, and he let out an audible sigh.

"No, I'm not mad Gina. Relieved, actually. I take it then you don't want MacLeod's head?" he directed his question to Robert.

"No, you're more than welcome to it," Gina answered quickly, a sly smile blooming. "Even though I have good reason, after all you and Duncan put me through..."

Methos avoided Gina's eyes, glaring hard at MacLeod instead. "Yes, well...it wasn't my idea," he pointedly remarked to Duncan.

"Wait now, don't blame this all on me," Duncan cut in, tucking his sword away and crossing his arms. "If you hadn't suckered me into giving you the barge..."

Methos tucked his sword away and moved toe-to-toe with MacLeod. "Suckered you? It was a fair deal; I help you, you give me a place to live."

"I didn't think you were serious!" Duncan proclaimed with injured innocence.

Methos shook his head slightly. "A deal's a deal, MacLeod."

Duncan's innocent routine quickly slid to moral outrage. "You stole the barge from me! And what about the vase? One of only six left in the world..."

"Don't you mean _five_?" Methos taunted him.

"Gentlemen?" Robert interrupted the two bickering Immortals, "You're behaving like an old married couple." His arm tightened around Gina as he smiled down at her. She patted his chest lovingly, trying to hide her smile.

"We are not!" Duncan and Methos declared haughtily, glaring first at the couple, then at each other. Then they both turned away simultaneously, arms crossed, backs to each other.

"It's his fault," Duncan sniffed.

"Is not," Methos huffed.

"Is too."

"Boyscout," Methos grumbled.

Duncan whirled, outraged. "Boyscout!?"

Methos turned, staring him down. "BOYSCOUT. B-O-Y-S-C-O-U-T," he spelled out.

Duncan's eyes darkened as their fight escalated. "Why you sneaky, smarmy, conniving..."

"'Smarmy?' Where'd you come up with that one? One of your many conquests?" Methos shot back.

"Egotistical..."

Methos let out a snort of disbelief. "ME? Egotistical!? Have you looked in mirror lately? Oh, of course you have, you're worse than Helen of Troy in that regard!" Methos declared, throwing his hands in the air.

Duncan spluttered for a minute, furious to the point of speechlessness. "Are you calling me vain?"

"If the mirror fits," Methos got directly in Duncan's face, "Eat it."

"I think it would be better if we left," Gina whispered to her husband, who nodded. They turned to Joe, who was trying - unsuccessfully - not to burst into laughter.

"Would you like a lift home?"

Joe wiped at his face, where tears of laughter still wet his cheeks. "Thanks. I'd appreciate it. And I appreciate all your help with those two," he nodded to Duncan and Methos, whose bodies were getting closer as their argument escalated.

"It was our pleasure. What they did to help us...well, I'm only glad we could return the favor," Gina kissed Joe on the cheek. "You're a good friend to them both."

Joe sighed. "I just hope they don't kill each other now that we've gotten them back together."

Robert smiled strangely. "Oh, I think they'll manage not to break too many bones," he teased, opening the car door for Gina, waiting for Joe to settle in the front seat.

~~~~

Methos flicked his tired gaze around MacLeod's living area, noting with amusement the shattered lamp beside the couch. Papers were scattered over the room, and it looked as though a pillow had been sacrificed in honor of their making up. He stretched lazily, fighting back a yawn. "Goddess, MacLeod, you've worn me out."

MacLeod stared up at the ceiling, his eyes drooping as exhaustion settled in. "Wasn't too hard with an old guy like you," he murmured.

Methos snorted. "You're not so young yourself." He settled his head against the chair leg, half-sitting up.

Duncan lay stretched out on the floor, his long limbs sprawled bonelessly about him. "Compared to you, I'm a baby."

Methos rolled onto Duncan's chest, staring down at him. "Are you calling me a cradle-robber?"

MacLeod grinned up at him. "If the rattle fits, eat..." his last tease was muffled by Methos' mouth, hungrily devouring his.

ze end!


End file.
